


Joe's Bone Zone

by DangerSlut



Category: Mad Max (2015 Video Game), Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Branding, Cunnilingus, Exposed to the elements, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Foot Fetish, Gigadumpster, M/M, Public Sex, Torture, Vaginal Sex, Warning: Immortan Joe, Whipping, Whump, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerSlut/pseuds/DangerSlut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Joe smut drabbles for the Gigadumpster</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Joe/Angharad, Joe is a huge sub with her and she kinda always enjoy this little chance of revenge.

Angharad lounges on the bed, freshly bathed and propped up with pillows. Her legs hang over the edge, Joe kneeling at her feet. He is stripped of his armour and mask, pillow under his knees to protect his old, aching joints as he massages her swollen feet and calves.

He so tender with her now that she’s pregnant. Gentle, affectionate, cautious. If he was anyone else, she would have loved the attention. The only thing she loves about him now is how submissive he is with her.

When she was first brought into the Vault, he had wanted her to worship and love him, like the War Boys do. Now, he treats her like a goddess.

His strong hands work from the tips of her toes, under the arch of her foot and over her ankles, up her calf and then back down again, working out the ache. Angharad sighs softly as he pampers her, eyes slipping shut and luxuriating in this peaceful moment.

His hands work up her calf again and continue up over the outsides of her thighs and hips, stopping as he reaches her stomach. He cups the swell of her belly delicately, shifting to kneel between her legs. She opens her eyes when she feels his warm breath on her bellybutton, placing her palm on his forehead and gently pushing him back before his lips can even ghost over her stomach.

“No,” she says softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as he looks up at her with pleading eyes. He denies her freedom, so she’ll deny him this.. “Kiss my feet.”

Joe licks his lips, settling back on his pillow and taking her foot in hand without complaint. In private, he takes whatever she feels gracious enough to give him. 

Joe cradles her foot in one of his massive hands, bowing his head to press a tender kiss to the top of it. His lips are thin and chapped, and his stubble scratches her skin, but seeing him like this sends a thrill of excitement through her. It makes her feel powerful, having a Warlord and God bent before her.

Joe kisses his way down her foot, lips feather light, before turning her foot up so he can kiss the underside of her big toe. Angharad giggles as his stubble tickles her, and Joe glances up at her, a smile tugging at his lips.

Smirking in return, Angharad presses her toe firmly to his lips. “Suck it,” she orders, her voice as soft as silk as she repeats one of his many demands.

Joe doesn’t hesitate. He parts his lips and takes her toe into his mouth, his tongue pressing to the pad of it before he gently sucks. He swirls his tongue around it, teeth scraping lightly over her skin, making Angharad squirm and smile at the sensation. She find no real pleasure in the act but in his submission sparks lust inside of her.

She pushes her foot more insistently at his mouth, pushing tow more toes into his mouth. “All of them. I want you to suck all of them,” she sighs, stroking his hand over the swell of her stomach before dipping between her thighs. A throb of pleasure thrills her to the core when she sees hunger light his eyes and he sucks her toes, squirming his tongue between them. He could take her right now, no one would stop him, but he won’t not until she gives him permission. If she gives him permission.

Angharad strokes the folds of her cunt slowly, surprised to find herself already slick and sensitive. Joe warm, wet mouth and her own fingers send shivers up and down her spine, making her arch and moan. Joe’s muffled moan echoes her own and his hand slides up the back of her calf, massaging her and adding to her pleasure.

Swirling her fingers around her clit, Angharad pushes the last of her toes into Joe’s mouth, drool leaking out and slide down the arch of her foot. It’s filthy and delicious and she revels in the power her pregnancy has given her. “More, I want you to take more,” she gasps, pushing the ball of her toes into his lax mouth, the tip of her big toe brushing the back of his throat.

Pleasure flares in her as Joe gags, his blue eyes narrowing and tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Angharad moan, tossing her head back and wiggling her toes in his mouth, drool is dripping off the heel of her foot. She almost cums when he retches.

“Oh Daddy,” purrs Angharad, pulling her foot from Joe’s mouth and wiping his spit off on his cheek. “You’re so, so good to me.”

Joe rumbles lustily, dropping her foot and grasping her hips firmly. “May I, Splendid? Please?” he asks, glancing up at her before looking down at her stomach.

“No,” she replies, nearly laughing as he looks back up at her, begging with his eyes. Joe looks pathetic, face flushed and covered in his own slobber. His cock his stiff and leaking, and she thinks about kicking it, but then squashes the idea. She doubts she’d get away with that, even with his child inside of her.

“Kiss me here first and we’ll see,” she coos softly at him, fingers spreading the wet lips of her cut.

Joe surges forwards, burying his face between her tights and licking her hungrily. He laps and sucks at her, tongue dipping inside and drinking her down like she is the sweetest, cleanest water he has ever tasted. Angharad melts under Joe’s touch, head falling back as she grinds against him, teetering on the edge. 

She tumbles over the edge when Joe swirls his tongue around her clit, writhing in ecstasy, fingers tangling in his hair, as he catches it between teeth and tongue and sucks. She holds him in place by his hair, grinding her cunt against his face as she rides out her pleasure.

Joe presses sloppy kisses to the inside of her thighs when she lets him go, rubbing his calloused hands up and down her flanks. Angharad can tell he wants to ask again, on the verge of begging her.

“That was wonderful, Daddy,” praises Angharad, sighing out the words as she rubs slow circles. “You can touch me however you want now.”

Joe moans in response, grabbing her firmly by the hips and pulling her down the bed. He flips her over carefully, positioning her so she’s kneeling in front of him, chest pressed to the bed. They both moan as Joe eases into her, his hands cradling her stomach as they move together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crow + Rope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aka Crow Dazzle + Rope + Immortan Joe

The War Party ambushed them in the early hours of the morning, the sun just cresting over the horizon. Unprepared, they were taken easily. The women and boys were scooped up, water and guzzoline confiscated, and the men killed. All expect him.

The War Boys had dragged him kicking and screaming from his bed, hooting and hollering in triumphant for capturing the infamous Crow Dazzle alive. He had evaded them for far too long and the Immortan had finally had enough of illegal racing on stolen guzzoline in his territory. 

They drag him before their hulking false god, white and gleaming in the morning light, and force him to his knees. The Immortan gives him an offer and Crow refuses.

Crow expects them to kill him, but instead the War Boys strip him naked. They cut away his clothes and ripping off his feathers, sending them scattering in the wind. He curses at them as they pull his arms behind his back, tying his wrists together before throwing the rope over a light post.

He has no idea what they are doing, why they don’t just kill him. He already said no, so why not just put a bullet in his brain, like they did with his men?

The Immortan, his Impartors and War Boy’s gather around, all of them grinning ear to ear. Fear pools in Crow’s stomach, sets him shaking as he struggles to his feet. Before he can figure out what they are doing, two burly War Boys take hold on the end of the rope that is tied around his wrists and start to pull.

Crow groans and the crowd laughs as his arms are pulled taut, his shoulders cracking as they are yanked up behind him at an unnatural angle. Crow’s groans turn into screams as his feet lift off the ground.

Over his own howls of pain, he can hear the War Boys cheering, hurling insults at him, placing bets on him. The Immortan tells his men to be at ease and rest. They’ll wait and see how long he lasted.

Crow struggles to get free, thrashing as he desperately tries to wriggles his hands from the ropes. But the rope is too tight, cutting into his skin, and his shoulders jolt in agony every time he moves. He wears himself out quickly, panting and sweating under the rising sun, and he submits to his torture, hanging limply in his bonds.

They don’t let him down, instead lounging around on their cars, eating and drinking, music playing in the background. They ignore him, acting as if everything is perfectly normal.

By the time the sun is high in the sky, Crow feels like, well, a cooked crow. The sun beats down on him, scorching his skin, body gleaming as his sweat sizzles off of him. His mouth is dry as dust and he can’t even open his eyes to see what is going on around him anymore. He feels delirious, swaying as he dangles in the wind. 

“Immortan! Immortan!” he rasps out, unable to stand this torture any longer. “I’ve changed my mind!”

Laughter rises up from the War Boy, but the Immortan’s growl shuts them up quickly. Grunted orders, shuffling feet, and Crow sobs in relief as he feels them lowering him, toes brushing the ground. They let him kneel, sitting back on his heels, but keep his arms wrenched up behind him so his remains head bowed before their white god of death.

“Are you going to accept my offer, Crow Dazzle?” rumbles the Immortan, towering over the haggard man. Crow nods.

“Say it.”

“I’ll do it, I’ll catch them for-” croaks Crow, his throat grinding gravel. He coughs, wheezes, then groans as his own heaving yanks on his arms.

The Immortan’s hand cups his chin, slides up to his lips and pushes a thumb inside. It strokes over Crow’s parches tongue, and he tastes salt and dirt as the Immortan hums to himself. When he is done exploring Crow’s mouth, the Immortan hooks two fingers under Crow’s septum piercing and yanks his head up by it. 

Crow squawks in pain but he’s too dried out for tears to well in his eyes.

“Thirsty?” asks the Immortan, amusement evident in his voice. War Boy’s snicker in the background. “Would you like a drink so you can pledge your allegiance to me properly?”

“Please, Immortan,” gasps Crow, pride cast to the sands. The Immortan lets go of his septum, tangling his finger’s in the race master’s short hair to keep his head up.

He hears the jangle of the Immortan’s belt and then the god step in close and orders “Open your mouth.” 

Crow opens his mouth instantly, hoping for cool, crisp water from the Citadel but knowing that is not what he is getting. He hasn’t earned water yet and doesn’t know if he ever will.

The stream of piss hit the bridge of his nose, splattering over his cheeks and dripping off his chin. Crow sticks his tongue out, trying to catch as much as he can, not wanting to Waste a single drop of moisture. The Immortan chuckles and adjusts his aim, pissing straight into Crow gaping, desperate mouth. 

It comes hot and fast, and Crow nearly chokes on it. But it wets his mouth and soothes his throat, and nowhere as bitter or pungent as other piss he has drank. By the taste of it, the Immortan’s piss must be nearly clear.

The stream tapers off and the Immortan lets go of his hair to pat the top of Crow’s head approvingly as the race master licks the last of the moisture off his chapped lips.

“Now, what did you want to say to me?” asks Immortan, cooing out the words, mocking him. 

“I swear my allegiance to you, Immortan,” vows Crow, hating how the words flow so easily from his mouth. “The chromest cars and the shiniest women who come here will be yours. I swear it. I swear it on my life.”

The Immortan rumbles in approval, scrubbing a hand through Crow’s hair. “Prove your loyalty.”

Crow feels the tip of the Immortan’s cock press against his lips and his mouth falls open effortlessly. It’s thick and half hard, and never seems to end as the Immortan pushes to the back of his mouth and then down his throat. His face is fucked brutally, the false god ignoring how Crow coughs and gags, nearly throwing up the liquid that the Immortan graced him with.

The force of the Immortan’s thrusts rock him back and forth, jerking Crow’s shoulders painfully. His pained groans seem to only excite the Immortan more. The Immortan cums with a huff, clutching Crow’s head in his hands and forcing the kneeling man to stay still as he rams his lumpy cock down his throat.

It takes everything Crow has not to vomit.

As the Immortan removes himself, Crow coughing and drooling onto the ground between them, the cruel god calls for someone to heat his branding iron.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Always up for Joe/Kalashnikov :) plz?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda ooc but these gross old men need to have some carefree fun from time to time.

“Fuk-ushima Joe, where the hell did you find this?”

Kalashnikov stares at the queen size mattress, pillow top and all, with his jaw hanging open. It’s still in its plastic wrap, although one corner is ripped open and the fabric is stained yellow by sand. Kalashnikov never thought he’d sleep on a bed nice as this ever again.

“My boys found a mall buried under the sand,” replies Joe, smug as he stands at his second’s side. “There is a home decor store and this is one of few salvageable things left in it.”

Kalashnikov reaches out and presses down on the pillow top, marveling at how soft it is. He hasn’t touched anything as soft in years.

“Go on, open it,” coaxes Joe, smiling behind his mask.

Kalashnikov bunches the plastic in his hands and rips it from the mattress, feeling like a kid on Christmas. He almost moans when he when he feels the silky fabric under his palms, excited to sleep tonight.

Joe laughs at his reaction, eyes gleaming with unfiltered joy. Their relationship had become strained recently, especially since he had completed the Vault. Maybe this would help close the rift that had formed between them.

Kalashnikov looks back over his should, grinning at Joe. “Want to test it out?” he asks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

Joe raises an eyebrow at his friend, his grin growing even wider, and he reaches up to take off his mask. “I’d love to.”

Kalashnikov bends over to undo his boots, giving Joe a good view of his arse, stringing the other man along. Once his boots are off, he climbs up onto the bed and stands on it. “Get up here,” he tells Joe, jumping on the bed and holding out his hand.

Setting his mask aside, Joe furrows his brows at Kalashnikov. This is not what he had been expecting.

“What are you doing?” asks Joe, giving Kalashnikov an annoyed look.

“Testing it out. Get your boots off and get up here.” 

“This is childish.”

“Oh really? Not as much as locking your women up so there is no chance of them playing with someone else.”

Joe’s brow furrows even deeper, his mouth pressing into a hard line. He’s just trying to do something nice for his closest friend and Kalashnikov still has to bring that up against him. He goes to put his mask back on, frustrated.

Kalashnikov sighs, realizing his mistake the moment the words came out of his mouth. They’d been butting heads for a while now and it’s hard not to fall back into old arguments.

“Come on, don’t be like that. Aren’t you the one telling me I need to have more fun?” asks Kalashnikov, still holding his hand out to help Joe up on the bed. “Jump with me and then you can play with me however you want. When was the last time you jumped on a bed?”

Joe considers his friend’s question, raking his brain. Years, he hasn’t jump on a bed in years.

“Alright, but then we break it in properly,” relents Joe, taking Kalashnikov’s hand and heaving himself up onto the bed. 

“You got yourself a deal, Colonel,” grins Kalashnikov.

They start off slowly, bouncing lightly on the mattress. They are both cautious. The years creeping up on them faster than they expected and neither of them wanted to tumble off the edge of the mattress. But joy of getting to do something so silly, something from before the end of the world, takes over quickly.

They’re both laughing like boys, holding hands and jumping as high as they dare too. Years of discontent, of fighting for their lives, of carving a living out in this hellscape washes away in minutes, and for a moment they forget all responsibilities and worries.

Joe looks at Kalashnikov, stunned by the sight of the other man. He hasn’t seen his friend this happy in years, maybe not since before the end of the world. Years melt off Kalashnikov’s face as he jumps and laughs, eye lit up with unbridled delight.

Joe loops an arm around his friend’s waist and pulls the smaller man against his chest and into a kiss. Kalashnikov loops his arms around Joe’s neck, kissing Joe back hungrily. They are both breathless and wanting by the time they part.

“Let’s see how much more this thing can handle,” chuckles Kalashnikov, lips brushing against Joe’s before he gives the older man a shove, knocking the Joe flat on his back.

Joe bounces of the bed with a huff, but before he can make a fuss, Kalashnikov is on him, straddling his lap and pulling Joe into another ravenous kiss. Joe’s hands slide down his second’s sides and then around to grab Kalashnikov’s bony butt, kneading it.

Kalashnikov’s hand worms between them, quickly divesting them both of their belts and undo their flies. They’re both hard, raring to go, but Kalashnikov gives Joe a few appreciative strokes, swirling over the head and making his friend moan into his mouth.

“You got something slick?” asks the Bullet Farmer, breaking the kiss. He unsurprised when Joe pulls out a vial of something clear. Kalashnikov takes it from Joe, uncapping it and pouring some into his palm before slicking both of their cocks up.

He presses their cocks together, stroking them both as he thrusts against Joe.

“This is your idea of breaking it in?” complains Joe, panting and gripping Kalashnikov’s hips tightly, guiding him.

“You planning on going back to the Citadel tonight?” asks Kalashnikov, raising an eyebrow.

“…No.”

“Well, I’m just testing how it treats my knees right now. We can see how yours do on round two.”

Joe laughs, smiling up at his friend and settling in for the ride. He’s certainly looking forwards to a round two, especially now that the old Kalashnikov is back. 

They grind and thrust against each other roughly, Kalashnikov rocking in Joe’s lap while Joe plants his feet on the bed to get better leverage. It’s rough and fast, passionate and long overdue.

Joe strokes and gropes Kalashnikov through his clothes, avoiding the bullets as best as he can. Kalashnikov braces a hand on Joe’s chest, imagining the feel of flesh instead of hard plastic, head tipped back in pleasure. 

They cum together, moaning and grinding desperately against each other as they paint Joe’s armor white. 

Kalashnikov rolls off Joe and lays beside him, chest heaving as he comes down from his orgasm. “When do you think you’ll be ready for another go?” he asks, already wanting to go again but knowing his body isn’t ready for it.

“Not for a while. I’m not as young as I used to be,” replies Joe, his smile not reaching his eyes.

“Well, how about dinner in bed?” offers Kalashnikov, rolling onto his knees and starting to unclasp Joe’s armor. He’s pleased that his knees are not bothering him any worse than they usually do. “I think work can wait till tomorrow.”

Joe hums in agreement. Dinner and then fucking Kalashnikov senseless? He’d set anything aside for that at the moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Immortan Joe/Toast... Fight!

Joe can tell Toast is going to be difficult the moment he enters the Vault. She’s sitting on the steps below the window, shoulders hunched and body tense, ignoring him. She has a book in her lap and she is focusing her attention on it. A history textbook, by the looks of it.

“You’re empire won’t last,” says Toast, not bothering to look up as he approaches her. “They never do.”

Joe sighs heavily, fingers twitching in annoyance. It’s times like these he regrets letting his wives learn about the world before the end of the world or read so that could entertain and educate themselves. There’s always one that tries uses history against him.

“The world has changed, Toast,” counters Joe, holding his hand out for her. “History is important, but those rules don’t apply anymore.”

Toast snaps the books shut, prickling with anger. He can see her jaw clenching, teeth grinding, as she puts the book back in the pile and stands. Joe wonders which curses she is holding behind her tongue. Toast can be just as creative with them as Dag is.

“The world has changed but people don’t. We’re just as vicious as the people Before,” she grumbles, turning and marching up the stairs to the bedroom, ignoring his offered hand. At least she isn’t going to make him drag her up there.

He follows her silently, having nothing to say in return. She’s right. Humanity is just as brutal and vile as it has always been.

Toast stops at the foot of the bed, staring at it. She’s so tense the muscles in her back stand out in perfect detail. Joe doesn’t feel like fighting today, hardly has the energy to breed her, so instead he tries to cool her anger.

Joe slides his hands up over her shoulders, gently massaging away her tension. Her skin is soft and warm under his hands, free of any blemish. He’s amazed by how smooth she is, especially after spending most of her life out in the Waste. Most of the free range wives he’s had before her were marked up in some way.

Toast tolerates his indulgence, slowly softening under his hands, until his thumb brushes the brand on the back of her neck.

Toast flinches and twists away from him, lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Her hands ball into fists at her side, and she’s coiled like a venomous snake, ready to strike.

“They’ll get sick of it and tears everything down. Rip it apart from the inside out,” spits Toast, glaring at him. “Doesn’t matter if it is you or whoever you get to take over!”

Joe makes a grab at her, but Toast dances around him, small and quick. She bolts for the door and Joe lumbers after her, determined to catch her before she reaches the stairs. She’s fertile right now and he isn’t going to waste his energy chasing her around the Vault.

Joe catches her back the back of her top, half strangling her as he snatches her up and carries her back to the bed. Toast kicks and snarls, writhing in his arms.

“Idi Amin, Slobodan Milosevic, Nicolae Ceausescu, you’re no different than them! You’ll end just like them too!” Toast hisses at him, digging her elbow into his side, hitting the nasty sore under his armpit through his armor.

Roaring in rage and pain, Joe tosses his infuriatingly intelligent wife onto the bed so forcefully she bounces on her belly. He doesn’t give her time to squirm away from him, grabbing her by the ankles and dragging her down the bed as she claws at the bedding. He rips her bottoms out of the way, feeling smug as she gasps in surprise. Toast can curse at him, recant history, fight him, but she can’t stop him. She’s a tiny creature and completely at his mercy.

Joe forces his way between her legs and lays down on top of Toast, crushing her into the mattress and pinning her down. He chuckles as she wheezes below him, his weight forcing the air out of her. If she can hardly breath, she won’t be able to spit the truth at him.

Joe pulls his cock from his pants and gives himself a few rough strokes to get ready. He knows Toast won’t be, so he’ll have to be hard enough to fuck her dry. Hard enough to get this done and over with, to shut her up.

He forces into her with short, jerky thrusts, her dry folds catching his skin and nearly making it as painful for him as it is for her. Toast cries out, hands balling in the bedding and her feet kicking uselessly at the mattress.

Joe holds still once his is in, giving her time to adjust, to relax. She doesn’t deserve it, not after how she spoke to him, but those initial thrusts sate his anger. She’ll be less likely to get pregnant if he continues to hurt her.

Eventually she settles, panting into the bedding and her cunt unclenching around him.

“Good girl,” rumbles Joe, sliding his hands under Toast to knead her breasts as he start to rock into her. His paces doesn’t stay slow for long though, her ragged pants and groans exciting him more than he’d ever admit.

Joe moans when she starts to get wet, pounding into her, reaching the edge just as she starts to warm up. Growling into Toast’s ear as he cums, Joe squeezes her tits hard enough to make her keen in pain. 

Joe rolls off of her with a huff, laying on his back beside her.

Toast lies still for a moment, catching her breath before pulling her legs together. She hisses and shoots him a glare, before lashing out to shove Joe. He her wrist in his hand, so small and fragile in his grip. He could easily break it if he wanted to. Instead, Joe draws her hand to his armored chest, despite her trying to pull away, his thumb stroking over the back of her hand. 

“Tyrant,” mutters Toast.

Joe snorts and shakes his head.


End file.
